


'Tis But A Scratch

by gray_zelle



Series: Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [10]
Category: A Series Of Unfortunate Events (Netflix)
Genre: F/F, blood mt, knives cw, there's a knife and blood is mentioned but not seene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_zelle/pseuds/gray_zelle
Summary: When Esmé helps Olivia with dinner, Olivia cuts Esmé’s finger, and can’t help but feel immensely guilty. Esmé isn’t actually all that phased.
Relationships: Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor
Series: Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592197
Kudos: 7





	'Tis But A Scratch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LemonsandRosemary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonsandRosemary/gifts), [msariadneoliver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msariadneoliver/gifts), [kitsnicketts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsnicketts/gifts).



> content warnings:  
> \- there is a knife, yes  
> \- mentions of characters being naked (not in full or any detail really)  
> \- i think Jacquelyn says fuck i can't remember  
> \- mentions of an ex-husband who is not pictured
> 
> this is also for olivia-caliban and oliviacalibans on tumblr!!

From across the kitchen, Olivia gushed, “Esmé, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.” 

Esmé never knew what to do when Olivia said those five words, and even with the basicness of her task, right now was no different. What  _ should  _ she do? Excitedly stab the cutting board? Kiss Olivia until the kitchen around them disappeared? She was clueless; being clueless usually annoyed her, but Olivia expressing pride in her had stopped everything upstairs. 

She tried to think straight, keeping up her kitchen work. While Olivia prepped a frying pan, she chopped up ingredients for a salad to go with tuscan chicken - part of a recipe from a magazine Olivia had found outside 667 Dark Avenue.

“It was on the sidewalk,” Olivia had said, “but it wasn’t scrunched or wet or gross, so I picked it up. I’m sure it’s a calling. A sign from the universe. So tonight we’re cooking what the universe wants on the menu.”

Esmé had been clueless then, too.

But she’d started helping anyway, as per the three’s agreement. Esmé  _ did  _ have some basic cooking skills - according to Jacquelyn, she could make a mean omelette - but she was no housewife material. Early on into their relationship, she and her girlfriends had agreed to share the kitchen duties; but recently Esmé had, um, slacked off on her part of the deal. Mainly because she was too embarrassed to admit she was ( _ just _ ) below average in the kitchen. To fix that, though, both Olivia and Jacquelyn had said they would teach her more advanced things.

Olivia turned from the frying pan again. “You’re doing well tere, too.” 

Slicing lettuce had taken a little effort at first; now Esmé’s lettuce work looked more like Olivia and Jacquelyn’s. 

“Just to think,” she said, “that weeks ago I thought lettuce could  _ also  _ be-”

“Not  _ again _ ,” Jacquelyn teased, passing the kitchen doorway. In a towel, for once. (She often journeyed between the sauna and bathroom in the buff.) 

“I know it’s not wearable  _ now _ , thank you very much.” 

But even now, when she closely studied a lettuce leaf, Esmé still thought of bra cups.

Finishing up, Esmé reached for the first tomato they needed, a tad apprehensive - tomatoes were the hardest to cut up.

This tomato wasn’t willing to cooperate.

Nope. It slipped from her hand, shot off the cutting board and bounced onto the bench. 

“Seriously?!”

Olivia turned around, watching her pathetically fumble with it. “Want a hand?” 

“Please, darling.” 

Turning the pan right off, Olivia crossed the floor. She slipped under Esmé’s arm, and her warm palm gripped her wrist.

Esmé barely heard her ask, “Are you ready?” 

“What?- I, yes. I am.” 

Like she’d done before, Olivia guided Esmé’s hand through cutting up the tomato. They both held it, while Esmé chopped, and tried to ignore the new soap she’d bought Olivia a week ago. 

Olivia verbally guided her, too, offering just the right support - not being overbearing, but assuring her girlfriend she was doing things right. She rarely teased her, unlike Jacquelyn (Esmé always fed it back). Which was why Esmé secretly preferred Olivia taking her cooking lessons.

When she finished the first tomato, Olivia held up the second. “Want to try this one by yourself?” 

“Completely by myself? I suppose.” 

Olivia at least stayed close, and watched as Esmé tried to steady the tomato - and, as usual, struggle with that first cut. The tomato slipped multiple times, before rolling across the board. Now pissed off, Esmé snatched it; it pulsed in her grasp, like a stress ball that deserved to burst.

“Darling, help me, please,” Esmé sighed. She let Olivia slip in again, but she took the knife and left Esmé holding the tomato - then Jacquelyn dropped something, the bang making them both jump-

“Oh, my  _ goodness _ !”

Only then did Esmé realise Olivia had sliced her girlfriend’s finger.

It stung a little, and as Esmé inspected it - making Olivia whine - it began to bleed and redden. But it didn’t look  _ that- _

Olivia snatched at Esmé’s cut hand, almost yanking her finger off (FIGURATIVELY!!). As she turned her girlfriend’s hand around, Esmé looked up to find she’d gone pale with shock and horror.

Once again, Esmé was clueless.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I-”

“How did that even happ-” no, Esmé couldn’t hold that shriek in. Not when Olivia tried to  _ pry the cut open. _

Now Olivia embraced her girlfriend, and  _ tight _ . Boa constrictor tight. Esmé was quite glad her shriek brought Jacquelyn to the kitchen (in an untied bathrobe).

“What is it, babes-”

“I hurt Esmé,” Olivia said, sounding on the verge of tears. At least, Esmé thought - Olivia’s chokehold had popped her ears.

“Darling, it’s not- Darling, let me go-”

Olivia did, tugging Esmé’s hand towards Jacquelyn. “Look, Jacquelyn. Esmé’s finger. Is that- is that deep?”

Now Olivia had well and truly, what was a nice way to say it, lost her head. She seemed close to panicking, to where not much would calm her down. Well, Esmé didn’t know - perhaps a good, rough kiss where Esmé tugged out her bun, and mussed up her hair, and left her glasses askew would- oh she dropped blood on the kitchen tiles.  _ Ugh. _

This made Olivia whimper; she peered close over Jacquelyn’s shoulder, as Jacquelyn calmly took Esmé’s hand, assessing the cut. That did slightly hurt, but Esmé didn’t voice her, not pain, but irritation. The last thing she needed was not to appear weak, but to make Olivia feel any worse.

Then Olivia asked, “Should we take Esmé to the hospital?”

“The  _ hospital _ ?” Esmé echoed, frowning.

“Not for this, babe,” Jacquelyn gently murmured. “It’s not deep, so-”

“I don’t know, I think it does look a little deep. Deep enough for stitches.”

While in all honesty, this whole instance had unphased her - she’d done worse - Esmé’s stomach flipped at the mention of stitches. Thanks to an unforgettable night in a private hospital room, when Jerome had almost literally dragged her to the E.R. - all for a tiny stab wound Esmé was unbothered by. (One of Kit’s warning stabs.) It wasn’t a good night, say, sensory-wise. Not until a nurse dismissed Jerome, who was being more painful than the wound, and turned a blind eye when Esmé, probably illegally, snuck someone else into the private room, preferring her company over her ex-husband’s.

“It won’t need stitches.”

Esmé found herself sighing in relief, even when a night in the E.R. now would be six times better than one with Jerome.

“Yes, but, sweetheart, doesn’t it  _ hurt _ ?”

It was clearly hurting Olivia.

As Jacquelyn began tending to her finger, Esmé gave her girlfriend a smile. “Hardly, darling-” she winced when Jacquelyn drove a paper towel in too far. Only worsening the look on Olivia’s face.

Though she seemed to think otherwise, she asked, “So… So it’s okay?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Let me get some antiseptic,” Jacquelyn said, ruining all of that.

Esmé deemed antiseptic the absolute  _ worst  _ element to any mild injury fixing. It stung and burned in a way she couldn’t stand, as though the wound was being stabbed with a molten lava knife. She couldn’t handle it, and refused to have it applied to a wound unless it was absolutely, positively, definitely necessary.

She’d been told “Suck it up, Princess” by a certain medical practitioner multiple times before. Right then, she told herself that, to spare Olivia - who was frantically bouncing on her toes while waiting for Jacquelyn to return, fingers shaking as she held Esmé’s cut closed. (Something Esmé could manage herself, but she didn’t think she could voice that right then.)

Then Jacquelyn came back, and the moment and a cotton ball came. Like it always did, the antiseptic stung. Esmé bore it, suppressing her discomfort. (It was more painful than the cut itself.) She glanced away - then felt Olivia place a hand on her back, carefully rubbing her fingers down her girlfriend’s blouse.

The seconds then passed, and Jacquelyn pulled away just as Esmé decided it had been long enough.

Coming even  _ closer _ still, Olivia peered at Esmé’s finger. “Are you sure it doesn’t need anything else, Jacquelyn?”

“It’s okay, baby. Esmé’s fine. Aren’t you, babe?”

“I am,” Esmé assured Olivia. Again.

Esmé bandaged the cut herself, since that didn’t warrant an ordeal. And to prove to Olivia that, yes. It  _ was  _ fine.

Olivia now looked to her girlfriend, the remnants of her shock lingering on her face. She was calmer now, and seemed to be a tad embarrassed for losing her head like that. Though it seemed like she needed  _ one  _ more thing to finally assure her.

Esmé’s suspicions were confirmed when she murmured, “Can I kiss it better?”.

And Esmé was clueless again.

“Why not?” Esmé replied, really not seeing why, but Olivia kissed her finger and, like magic, it did feel a bit better.

“That’s that, then,” Jacquelyn gently smiled, from across the kitchen. At the pan Olivia and Esmé had forgotten about (luckily it was off). “Now how about we finish dinner? And  _ all  _ of us, thank you, Esmé. That cut’s not stopping you from cooking. Including after tonight.”

Esmé thought it wise to nod.

The three cooked, finished and ate dinner together. Sometime later that night, Esmé and Olivia crossed paths in the Penthouse hallway. Where Olivia asked to see Esmé’s finger, since this was  _ still  _ a huge deal to her.

“Olivia darling,” Esmé stated. “I  _ know  _ you didn’t mean to cut my finger.”

“I know. I still feel bad, though.”

“Don’t, darling.” A thought came to mind. “Do you need to kiss it better again?” 

Olivia gently chuckled. Making Esmé look to her smile, and the shine of her eyes - brighter than the flames beneath the pan Esmé had cooked with. Brighter than the hallway lights above them. For all Esmé knew, and cared, they could be the brightest things in the universe.

She stepped forward, closed her eyes, and instead, kissed Esmé’s lips.

Esmé managed to keep her head. What made her lose it was Olivia murmuring, “And I think you were very brave with the antiseptic” - since yes Esmé did hate antiseptic, but she’d never  _ admitted _ it.

She really didn’t like feeling this clueless.

**Author's Note:**

> this one's olddddd and i initially had Esmé cutting Olivia's hand and Esmé freaking out but i thought it'd be more in-character and fun to have Olivia upset and Esmé like "it's. fine"


End file.
